


A Leap of Faith

by Elialys



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: 'I almost lost you' kind of trope, F/M, First Time, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Coital Cuddling, Post-Episode: s02e09 The Satan Pit, Romance, Secret Santa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-07
Updated: 2019-12-15
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:01:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21709411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elialys/pseuds/Elialys
Summary: "As Rose stares back at him and more seconds pass slowly, almost sluggishly, the potent energy that comes with their most recent ‘I’ve almost lost you’ scare pulses between them, embedding them both with a pull that feels almost magnetic.Rose blames that pull for soon finding herself in his arms again, her forehead pressed to his shoulder, his embrace as strong as it’s been every other time he’s hugged her today. She doesn’t mind this mutual clinginess, all too happy to reciprocate, even if her feet don’t leave the ground, this time; there is no laughter either, only the tight hold of his arms around her, her fingers clenching the fabric of his jacket, revelling in that tangible proof that he is here."After 'The Satan Pit', Rose and the Doctor comfort one another.
Relationships: Tenth Doctor/Rose Tyler
Comments: 96
Kudos: 338





	1. The Leap

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lastbluetardis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lastbluetardis/gifts).



> Sooooo this is the _actual_ story I've been working on as my secret santa gift...until I chickened out of it last weekend and wrote that fluffy ficlet instead. I somehow managed to kick my brain/muse into submission long enough to make it readable (hopefully).
> 
> This literally takes place at the end of "The Satan Pit" (you know the one). This is rated (soft) E because of reasons - the reasons being sex, obviously.
> 
> Happy holidays :p

“Oh, the stuff of legend.”

Any other day and Rose might have rolled her eyes at this melodramatic description of their duo, far from thinking so highly of herself. She smiles back at the Doctor instead and lets him have this moment; it is clear from the way he looks at her that he believes her to be exactly as he says.

As soon as he pulls the right lever between them, the Time rotor comes to life.

“Where d’you send her?” Rose can’t help but ask, glancing away from the rotor to look up at him, expecting to find him staring at the screen, the way he usually is when standing by the console.

When she meets his gaze dead on, a shiver runs down her spine.

“Home,” he says simply, his voice lower than usual.

Rose makes a face at these words. She hasn’t showered in what feels like days, although no more than twenty-four hours can have gone by since they landed on Krop Tor; she supposes spending a good portion of that time running away from murderous Oods or crawling through maintenance tunnels would make anyone feel grimy. Not to mention the exhaustion settling down upon her.

That’s one of the many feelings she’s become rather familiar with since she started traveling with the Doctor, that _‘I almost died and now I’m a bit tired_ ’ heaviness in every one of her muscles and bones.

“D’you really feel up for an evening with Mum?” she asks him with a bit of a frown, because she sure doesn't. As much as she’d worried about never seeing her Mum again only hours ago, simply being back on the TARDIS has put those fears to rest.

Quieting down her fears about nearly losing the Doctor is not as easy, even with him standing _right there_ next to her, their bodies so close, their arms are almost touching.

“Blimey, no,” the Doctor answers with a glower, a tad too emphatically – although she can’t blame him. Jackie hadn’t been at her friendliest during their last visit, which had involved consoling her daughter about Mickey’s decision to stay in the parallel universe. “We’re merely orbiting around good old planet Earth,” he adds. “After the day we’ve had, I figured a quiet night away from anything resembling a black hole would be rather nice.”

There was a time when Rose would have dashed from the console to pull the door open and take a look outside, never tiring from seeing the Earth from this point of view – and that time might have been as recently as yesterday.

She’s reluctant to move at the moment, just as reluctant as the Doctor is to look away from her, apparently. They rarely do ‘still’ and ‘quiet’ to this degree, and whenever these moments present themselves, as they ought to on occasions, he’s always been keen to put an end to them as quickly as possible.

As Rose stares back at him and more seconds pass slowly, almost sluggishly, the potent energy that comes with their most recent ‘ _I’ve almost lost you’_ scare pulses between them, embedding them both with a pull that feels almost magnetic.

Rose blames that pull for soon finding herself in his arms again, her forehead pressed to his shoulder, his embrace as strong as it’s been every other time he’s hugged her today.

She doesn’t mind this mutual clinginess, all too happy to reciprocate, even if her feet don’t leave the ground, this time; there is no laughter either, only the tight hold of his arms around her, her fingers clenching the fabric of his jacket, revelling in that tangible proof that he is here.

He puts an end to the moment by making a…peculiar noise, causing her to frown against him.

“Did you just… _sniff_ me?”

“Well,” he says, not yet moving away. “You’re giving off some very strong smells. As anyone would after running for their life while trapped in close quarters.”

In another words, she reeks.

“Yeah?” she asks with a scoff, before sniffing him even more obnoxiously in retaliation. “ _You_ smell just like my grandpa used to, and I don’t mean it as a compliment either.”

“Sulphur does give out quite a pungent odour, doesn’t it?” he notes, unfazed. “It was _bad_ , all the way down that Pit. I don’t think you would have been able to keep that blue purée down for very long if you’d been there.”

They both tense at these words. Somehow, this involuntary stiffness sets him into motion again, finally pulling away to peer at her, his hands on her upper arms. “You should shower. And sleep.”

She gives a short shake of her head. “There’s no way ’m gonna be able to sleep.”

“You look tired,” he counters.

“I feel it, too,” she admits. “Still won’t make that sleeping thing any easier.” When he simply carries on looking at her, she shrugs a little. “I just…I know we’re safe, orbiting the Earth and all that, but it’s like my brain’s not completely caught up with that yet, and…it still thinks there’s a black hole above us, you know?”

He stares at her for another long, stretching second, and she can almost see the wheels turning in his head.

“I may be able to help with that,” he tells her, his chipper tone contrasting with the grave look on his face. “Give me…thirty minutes to do some tinkering, then meet me in the media room, eh? I’ll even let you put me through another one of those twentieth-century romantic movies you enjoy so much.”

Rose’s curiosity is piqued, but she’s long ago learnt it would be pointless to ask. “Okay,” she agrees with another small frown and a shrug.

“Brilliant!” the Doctor beams at her, before springing out of the room.

Rose does take a shower, washing away the layers of grime and _fear_ still clinging to her skin. As much as she tries not to think back on the events of the day, her brain refuses to comply, a mixture of anxiety and guilt twisting at her gut whenever she recalls those twenty minutes spent on that rocket, forcefully strapped to a seat while the planet the Doctor was trapped on got sucked into the black hole.

In her rush to get back to him as quickly as possible, she doesn’t even dry her hair, not doing anything beyond swiftly putting on some pyjamas. After nearly two years of companionship, this is far from being the first time they do this.

Her heart’s never beaten quite as fast as it does as she enters the room, though, finding him sitting on the couch, one of his long arms draped over the back of it, fingers drumming at it; whatever thoughts he’s lost into, they can’t be any better than hers, his expression even more solemn than it’d been in the control room, his specs giving him a particularly stern look.

He’s changed since they were last together, and she supposes he must have showered, too. He’s not bothered with a suit jacket, only wearing a white shirt and a blue tie, the light colour contrasting with the dark fabric of the couch, making his limbs look impossibly long.

There is no logic to the rush of anticipation and relief that sweeps through her as she takes him in. She’d _known_ he’d be right there, waiting for her, and yet, she cannot help the small sigh that escapes her at the sight of him, the sound enough to pull him out of his thoughts, turning his head to look at her.

Or stare, really.

The way her insides dip at the intensity of his gaze is far from being unpleasant, nor is it entirely new.

“What do you want?” he asks her quietly, and her brain must be _very_ tired, because he cannot possibly mean what she thinks he means.

“What?” she hears herself asking, sounding oddly breathless.

He frowns the smallest of frowns, before tilting his head toward the large screen on the other side of the room. “Film selection,” he says. “What would you like to watch?”

Rose looks away as she scolds herself for letting her mind go anywhere near _there_. She forces herself to move, too, hoping it will help put an end to the heavy statics crackling between them, well aware that the tingles at the back of her neck are caused by his relentless staring.

“Dunno,” she answers at last, grabbing one of the blankets she likes to wrap herself in when she watches the telly. “Anything with Hugh Grant in it will do, I guess.”

He scowls as she pops down onto the other end of the couch. “Is he that British bloke with the puppy eyes and the ridiculous head of hair?”

She gives him a look, unable _not_ to stare pointedly at his lush head of hair.

He doesn’t see it, too busy staring at the uncharacteristically large space between them, frowning as he meets her eyes again. Rose scoots closer to him before he can ask what is up with her – because in all honesty, she’s not sure what is up with her at all.

They _have_ done this many times before, snuggling on the couch watching a film, and while she’s always been very much aware of his body in situations like this one (how could she not?), it just feels…different, this time, as if the events of the day have made her even more responsive to his proximity.

Like she just cannot get enough proofs that he is _here_.

Obviously, that excessive need to touch him translates into her trying to stay as far away from him as possible, not entirely sure how much she can trust herself around him tonight.

She’s always liked him more than as a friend, even back when he was gruffier and less prone to hugging, but lately, she’s been finding it hard not to cross that line between friendship and _more_. He’s been sending her mixed signals, too, and she has no idea how he would react to her doing as much as putting a toe on that line – although she suspects ‘bolting’ would be a probable outcome.

He’s not bolting tonight, quite happy to let her snuggle up against his side. While he would typically keep his arm above the blanket, said arm actually disappears _under_ the blanket this time, getting a much more secured hold on her waist.

This need for proximity obviously isn’t one sided.

With her nose once again pressed to his shoulder, she breathes in the clean scents from his shirt. There is no trace of sulphur left, just laundry detergent and… _him_ , feeling herself relaxing at these familiar smells, just as comforted by the feel of his body against hers.

“Look up,” he eventually tells her, his voice still lower than usual.

She does, lifting her head to look at him, meeting his slightly-augmented eyes through his lenses. A small smile tugs at his lips as he tilts his head, indicating the ceiling. “ _Up_ up,” he clarifies.

She’s tempted to ignore his directive for a moment, more than happy to carry on drinking in his features instead, as always a bit too affected by things like the dash of freckles across his cheekbones.

Rose does look up, eventually, seeing nothing but the smooth expanse of coral overhead; there is a characteristic noise beside her, the Doctor’s free hand now pointing toward the ceiling, his sonic flaring.

“Made a couple of modifications, hold on.” He changes the setting on his device, then tries again.

Overhead, the coral begins to change, shimmering brightly, before it seems to disappear altogether, until Rose finds herself staring at planet Earth, suspended into space.

“It’s not a window, not like it was on their base,” he says. “It’s just a projection, but I suppose it will do, considering I came up with this in seven and a half minutes. Looks real enough.”

‘Real enough’ doesn’t cover it.

Rose watches, as mesmerized as ever by the many nuances of colours that make up her home planet, from the various shades of its oceans and landscapes, to its amalgam of shifting white clouds.

“See,” he speaks again. “No more black hole.”

His voice is low as he says those words, his tone dragging Rose’s eyes back to him, not entirely surprised to find him staring at her, oblivious to the beauty above. He looks so confident about their safety…she wishes she could tell him how she feels – which is not entirely soothed, at the moment.

She can fend for herself well enough, as proven today, and she knows he’ll always do his best to get her out of harm’s way, but this is beyond the point.

 _The valiant child, who will die in battle so very soon_.

Rose shudders at the memory of that… _voice_. Close as they are, the tremors echo through him, and the Doctor frowns in concern, his brow creasing in question. She shakes her head, unable to share her fears with him, remembering the way he’d dismissed those words less than an hour ago.

She lowers her head instead, back to pressing her nose to his shoulder. “What…was it?” she cannot help but ask in a half-whisper.

He’s quiet for a long moment.

“I don’t know,” he admits, and there is no more false-bravado in his voice, no quick dismissal either.

Rose swallows hard, seeing herself as she’d been in that rocket, faced with that… _thing_ possessing Toby, using the bolt gun to shatter the front screen before unfastening Toby’s belt, watching him getting sucked into space.

“I killed him,” she says against his shoulder, her voice thick. “Toby,” she adds. “When he…changed again. I didn’t even hesitate, I just…killed him.”

The Doctor moves slightly, and she looks up, meeting his eyes. “Whatever took possession of him on that planet…that’s what killed him,” he tells her, quietly. “He probably died the moment his body became a vessel for that creature’s mind. What you did was prevent that mind from escaping and hurting a lot more people. Just as I knew you would.”

She stares up at him. “And what if I hadn’t?”

“Nonsensical,” he replies at once with a small glower. “Rose Tyler, not saving the day? What a ludicrous concept.”

She finds herself smiling softly against his shoulder, even as she shakes her head. “You’ve got way too much faith in me.”

His own smile fades at her words, replaced by an expression that is once again too solemn, back to staring at her with an intensity and _stillness_ she’s not quite used to, causing her toes to curl under her.

Her breath actually gets caught in her throat when he brings a hand up to her face, his thumb slowly tracing the line of her jaw.

“You’ve heard me praise humans before,” he speaks quietly. “For their resilience, and their curiosity, for their insatiable urge to go _further_. Yet humans are inexorably flawed. That resilience of theirs often turns into recklessness, and their curiosity leads them to open doors that should never be opened in the first place, until they find themselves scrambling for their lives. And it’s not that you don’t get reckless, we both know that’s a silly notion. But you’ve never been big on the scrambling.”

Rose lets out a small scoff into the fabric of his shirt. “Should’ve seen me in those maintenance tunnels, trying to escape the Oods. ‘Scrambling’ was definitely a big part of my day.”

He’s stopped the tracing of her jaw, all five of his fingertips now pressed lightly upon the side of her face, his skin cool in contrast with hers. “So maybe you do scramble from time to time,” he concedes. “But I don’t think I’m wrong in assuming you’re the one who got the crew to focus long enough so you could all escape?”

She’s quiet for a moment, her lips grazing his shoulder. “Maybe I helped a bit,” she admits, rather meekly.

“And from everything I’ve gathered, when I realised the creature’s mind was on that rocket with you and I destroyed the energy field that kept the planet from getting sucked into that black hole, you’re the one who figured it out and took action.”

Rose doesn’t say anything at all this time, simply looking back at him. His fingers have moved to cup her face, and her skin burns under the coolness of his palm.

He leans forward, then, until his lips are brushing her forehead. “Sounds to me like I’ve got just the right amount of faith in you,” he tells her quietly.

Most of the tension she still held in her body seems to leave her, and she finds herself slumping against him, her eyes closing. He responds to her movements, shifting just enough so that she rests more comfortably against his side and part of his chest, her head tucked under his chin while he buries his nose in her hair.

Under her ear, his heartbeats are slow and even; strong, and alive.

“Go to sleep,” he whispers in her hair, obviously aware that she’s already halfway there.

“You gonna get bored…” she breathes out sleepily.

“Naaah,” he says in a whispered version of his familiar, chipper tone. “I’ll have Hugh to keep me company.”

She lets out a small, rumbly chuckle as he uses his free hand to point the remote at the telly.

“Doctor?” she murmurs.

“Mm?”

But she’s already gone.

…

When she emerges, the telly is still playing, although the volume is too low for her to be able to decipher any dialogue. Even with her eyes closed, it doesn’t take her long to realise the Doctor is asleep against her, his breathing deep, his heartbeats even slower than before; there is an unmistakable _heaviness_ to the arm wrapped around her waist, too, his hand resting limply upon her thigh.

While this is definitely not the first time she’s fallen asleep against him, he’s never actually _slept_ with her before.

She’s tempted to move to take a better look at him in this unusual, vulnerable state, but from the feel of it, his face appears to be mostly buried in her hair, and she has no doubt any excessive movement will instantly wake him up.

Still, she cannot quite resist the urge to touch him.

Her hand finds his under the blanket, her fingertips grazing the top of it, lightly tracing his knuckles, before following the sinuous path of the veins beneath his skin.

She hears the change in his heartbeats before anything else, speeding up slightly. A couple seconds later, he sighs deeply into her hair, before his arm actually moves, slowly tightening his hold to pin her more firmly to him. That does not stop her from carrying on with the slow exploration of his hand.

“Didn’t think you did naps,” she admits, her voice barely above a whisper.

He lets out another gust of air in her hair, like a scoff. “Attenuating circumstances,” he replies, his voice low and rumbly. “Body’s still recuperating. Those are more like bouts of regenerative coma than naps, to be honest. Not my first one today either.”

Her hand has stopped moving upon his. “Regenerative _coma_?”

“Ah,” he says, his face moving a little, soon feeling his breath upon her forehead. “Took a bit of a fall down that Pit. There was some kind of air cushion in place to absorb most of the shock, but I suspect I fell at least a good hundred meters.”

“That’s…insane, even for you,” she speaks quietly, her throat closing up.

She feels him shrug.

“You were up on the planet’s surface, I was down in that Pit,” he says simply. “Had no way of getting back to you, or even communicating with you. The only way onward was…downward. Way, way down, as it turned out.”

“How did you know, though?” she asks. “That you’d find what you were looking for?”

“I didn’t,” he admits. “Call it…a leap of faith, I suppose.”

_Sounds to me like I’ve got just the right amount of faith in you._

She hears his words, even as her hand leaves the warmth that has gathered under the blanket, coming up to splay her fingers over the side of his neck, the heat of her skin slowly seeping into his, soon feeling the echoes of the beats still thumping under her ear. Inside her chest, her own heart squeezes at this added realisation of just how _close_ she’d come to losing him today.

The fact that they both made it out alive is nothing short of a miracle.

This is far from being their first embrace today – she’s honestly losing count, not to mention the unknown amount of time she’s just spent _sleeping_ against him. And yet, the slow, almost rhythmic feel of his breath upon her forehead soon causes shivers to run down her spine, the small tremors spreading through her entire body, another reaction he’s close enough to feel.

Any other day, and this would have been his cue to release her and put some much needed distance between them.

He doesn’t.

When her fingers begin to move again, slowly going up around his neck to curl into the hair at the back of his head, he lets her, feeling the shivers she’s creating under his skin. Not only is he letting her do this, he’s also joining in.

Cool fingers are slipping under the fabric of her top, his palm running slowly over her stomach, causing her muscles to twitch as her whole body shudders again, her heart speeding up inside her chest. His pinkie finger is trailing the hem of her pyjamas bottoms, now, not quite daring to pass that threshold, but the simple fact that his hand is _right there_ , touching her, is enough to cause her insides to clench.

She tilts her head back, needing to _look_ at him, meeting his eyes behind his lenses. Although he appears calm, that intensity in his gaze is stronger than it’s been at any point tonight.

“Doctor…” she says quietly, almost breathing out his name.

She wants to tell him…how terrified she was through it all. How the only reason why she took charge the way she did out there is because she kept hearing his voice in her head, telling her she knew what to do. How ultimately, she’d _had_ to survive, because how would she help _him_ if she died?

She wants to tell him how heartsick she felt when she realised she’d been drugged and forced away from Krop Tor, forced to leave him on his own, all the way down that Pit.

“I know,” he tells her thickly, his eyes filled with the same fears and relief.

He’s leaning forward, then, his shortened breath following the bridge of her nose, until his forehead is resting against hers, his subsequent exhales pooling upon her lips, which tingle in anticipation. As seconds pass, she wonders if he’s fighting that urge to _go on_ again, that urge to just give in, and take another leap of faith.

Rose encourages him, giving his hair the slightest of tugs, taking that leap with him.

When he kisses her, he does it slowly…so slowly…yet every brush of his lips, each small shift of his body, is bursting with barely contained longing, his fingers getting entangled in her hair to try bringing her closer. Shivering in bemusement, relief and swelling desire, Rose follows his cues, unwilling to do anything that might make him change his mind.

She cannot keep herself from aching for _more_ , though, her conscious self not exactly in charge anymore as more seconds tick on and he carries on kissing her almost in reverence; the next time their mouths part for air, she keeps hers open as she pulls his face back to hers, gliding the tip of her tongue over his lower lip.

His response is immediate and eager, not opposed to this at all, judging by the way he shifts his entire hold on her to pull her onto his lap with a low noise. She finds herself straddling him almost clumsily, wrapping her arms around his neck while he circles her waist tightly, the blanket crumpled against her lower back. There is nothing chaste in the way they seek one another, then, Rose using the entire length of her body to press him firmly to the back of the couch, their faces so close that the frame of his glasses digs into her flesh.

She doesn’t really care if they damage the bloody things, or if she ends up with a black eye, too engrossed in the sturdy, shivering feel of him, pressed so tightly to her, intoxicated by the languid meeting of their tongues. When she begins rolling her hips into him, slowly yet steadily, he gasps into her mouth, before completely shifting their positions again.

Her stomach drops as she falls backward, the Doctor following along, entrapped between her limbs, until her back hits the couch. Her entire body flushes with heat as he mirrors her previous moves, all rolling hips and growing pressure; trapped as he is between her legs, his movements are rather limited, but he makes do, creating a kind of friction that is a little _too_ pleasant, soon drawing a hoarse sound out of her, her body caring very little about how many layers of clothes still separate them.

Her rational mind chooses _this_ moment to resurface, something nudging at it. Her curiosity quickly getting the best of her, she forces her lips away from his, reopening her eyes to look at their surroundings.

Technically, they still are on the couch they were on moments ago. It doesn’t look anything like it did when they first sat on it, though, its surface area having somehow tripled, if not quadrupled, so that it now resembles a king-size bed.

“What the _hell_ happened to the couch?” she finds herself asking, her voice breathless and low.

There is a pause, his brain apparently needing a moment to refocus and form words. His hair is a tousled mess, his glasses adorably askew, his eyes glazed over.

“You know the TARDIS,” he eventually replies, his respiratory bypass system obviously operational; despite his dazed tone, he doesn’t sound nearly as affected as she does – although she’s _feeling_ how affected he is getting alright. “She likes making things bigger.”

This could have been awkward, the two of them back to _talking_ for the first time since they started snogging rather intensely; it could have put an end to the moment, broken the mood, reminded him that this should absolutely, definitely not be happening.

It doesn’t feel awkward.

Different, for sure, but ultimately, it’s all still very…chummy.

(Except for the dry humping, maybe)

Rose reaches up to pull the specs off his face, tossing them aside without much care. “Looks like your TARDIS got some competition,” she points out as she lifts her hips off the couch, purposefully pressing herself to that hardening bulge.

He lets out a small groan as he buries his face in the crook of her neck, and she cannot decide if that sound is caused by what she just did, or if he’s lamenting her terrible attempt at salacious humour.

That thought fizzles away as her breath gets caught in her throat. With his head out of the way, the projection overhead has come into full view again, having somehow forgotten about that window into space he created above them.

This glimpse into such a familiar part of their cosmos makes her head spin, even as it tethers her, comforted in her awareness that they are as far from Krop Tor as they can be right now.

Nothing tethers her quite as successfully as his lips upon her throat, though…his lips, and his tongue, and the graze of his teeth, one of his hands back under her top, travelling upward with one clear destination in mind, unable to focus on anything but the feel of him and the jolts of pleasure he’s sparking in her.

Despite the heat nothing short of radiating from her, his fingers remain cooler than any human’s, causing her nipple to harden the instant his hand starts trailing the sensitive skin of her breast. Her pleasure stirs low as he cups it fully, caressing, massaging, teasing…his tongue having discovered a particularly erogenous zone below her ear, and she cannot do anything but cling to him, her nails raking at his scalp and clothes.

The next time he lifts himself up and meets her gaze, it doesn’t feel that _chummy_ anymore, his pupils dilated, his cheeks slightly flushed from having been pinned to her warm skin, the look in his eyes enough to cause another tug, deep within her.

She wants to reciprocate some of the attention, but the moment she tries getting a hand between them, he grabs at it gently yet firmly, pulling it back out with a small shake of his head. As soon as he releases her wrist, he begins undoing the buttons of her pyjama top.

He takes his time, too, well aware of what this is doing to her. When the last one comes undone, he’s just as slow in revealing her heaving breasts, pulling the fabric aside, one half at a time.

The darkening look on his face is _not_ what she expected.

Rose’s confusion only worsens when his fingers begin tracing something upon her sternum.

“What is it?” she asks quietly, the angle making it impossible for her to see what he’s seeing.

“You’re bruising,” he says, before raising his eyes to look at her. “Looks like a belt mark.”

Rose swallows hard. “Oh, yeah,” she breathes out. “Shot off the front screen of that rocket with a bolt gun, created a vacuum to suck…whatever _that_ was out. I guess that belt saved my life.”

When the Doctor lowers his head, Rose buries her fingers in his hair, his lips grazing her bruised skin, his gestures even slower than they were moments ago. Her caress becomes a twist when wet heat entraps one of her nipples, and pleasure trickles down the length of her, pooling between her legs, where she _aches_ to be touched, her hips rising off the bed as she seeks friction.

He soon recaptures her lips in a languid kiss, one of her legs having slipped between his to pin him more firmly to her. He doesn’t indulge in that friction she’s encouraging, one of his hands moving instead, disappearing inside her pyjama bottoms.

Although he remains slow, there is no hesitation in the way he touches her, his fingers gliding through her folds, and the feel of how much she’s responded to him is enough to cause him to groan into her mouth. She echoes that sound when he uses his slick fingers to work on her, and that contrast between cool skin and heat is a sensation she cannot get enough of, adding to the tendrils of pleasure spreading all the way from her core to her toes.

The way he touches her goes beyond longing, beyond yearning.

He’s… _worshiping_ her, drawing out her pleasure, swallowing each of her gasps and moans as they rise out of her, and when she becomes unable to kiss him, too wrapped up in her swelling pleasure, he simply brings his face back to the crook of her neck, his tongue easily finding that spot again.

Pinned as she is beneath him, both of them still nearly fully dressed, Rose is _burning_ up, beads of perspiration beginning to leather her skin, most of it immediately absorbed by the fabric of her pyjamas. She craves for the cool feel of him, getting rather fed up with all these clothes on him, as everywhere she tries clinging to him, she’s met with fabric instead of skin.

She slips a hand between them to grab at his wrist in a halting gesture, and he stops almost at once, her other hand back in his hair, tugging to bring his face back to hers. She cups his cheek as he does, finding his skin uncharacteristically warm under her fingertips, having absorbed some of her heat.

“Please…” she whispers against his lips, her insides pulsing and clenching with need, blood rushing in her ears and where his fingers remain. “I want to feel you…” She releases his wrist to press her hand against the length of him through his trousers, causing him to let out his loudest moan yet.

He doesn’t stop her this time when she begins to unfasten his belt and unbutton his trousers, helping her along instead, his boxers just as swiftly discarded. Within moments, her pyjamas are pulled down her legs. When he begins to fumble with the buttons of his shirt, Rose pulls on his tie and brings him back down, their foreheads once more pressed together, and she shakes her head, loosely encasing his hips, with just enough pressure to initiate contact.

The feel of her seems to break any kind of control he had left, one of his arms supporting his weight while the other one slips beneath her to pull her flush against him, his hips rolling, causing him to slide upon her, both shuddering at the sensation.

“Doctor…” she gasps almost in supplication, twisting his hair in her fist.

There’s no more hesitation, the next shifts of his body all directed towards one goal, and her nails dig into his scalp when he enters her in one long thrust. Whatever discomfort she feels is small compared to having him inside of her, filling her so completely, and the way he keeps his face pressed to hers makes her feel like he’s attempting to fuse himself to her.

He doesn’t remain still for long, quite unable to; judging by the uneven way he begins to move upon her, she doubts he will last long, his body trembling against hers. It doesn’t matter, her pleasure already building back up with every thrust of his hips, one of her hands having disappeared under his shirt, relishing the feel of his cool skin, while the other one clutches at his backside, encouraging him all the while driving him deeper inside of her, his breath anything but cold against her face.

As her climax nears, Rose reopens her eyes, and gets lost into space, the stars and the Earth expending high above, certain that gravity will find her, and send her both soaring and plummeting towards the ground.

His fingers in her hair tether her back to him, dragging her heavy gaze away from this piece of universe he’s created just for her, meeting his eyes as she refocuses on him, pressing her fingertips upon the stars on his cheeks.

And as her name falls from his lips like a prayer, Rose lets herself be pulled into his infinite.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My brain has been a bit of an arse, lately; any feedback would be lovely and much, much appreciated ♥
> 
> EDIT: I have written/posted a second part to this story, all about the afterglow ;-)


	2. The Afterglow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rose, the Doctor, an afterglow....
> 
> Some snuggling, some talking, some...kissing *cough*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been overwhelmed with the love you gave this story. I'm having a bit of rough time at the moment, so please believe me when I say your kind words and positive appreciation have helped me get through this week.
> 
> I was not planning on writing a follow-up. But then [TheLoversOfMountains](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLoversOfMountains/pseuds/TheLoversOfMountains) suggested (requested) an afterglow scene, and that simple suggestion (request) lit a fire under my muse's arse. And since nothing soothes me quite as efficiently as writing about these two (or some metacrisis version of these two :p), here we are again.
> 
> I dedicate this to all of you out there who can use the distraction.

There is…peace, for a while.

A kind of quiet in his head he’s not experienced in a long time. It doesn’t last, of course.

But it’s nice while it does.

He tries clinging to the sensation, of being unburdened, almost weightless, nuzzling his nose further into the crook of her neck, her skin warm and more than a little damp. It doesn’t _quite_ work, as pinning himself more snuggly to her body only makes him more aware of his own, his nervous system more sensitive than it’s been in ages.

(Maybe decades)

(Possibly centuries)

Despite how many of their limbs are currently entangled, he’s moved enough to get off her chest at some point. Well, he’s _mostly_ off her chest.

One of his hands remains on said chest, his thumb apparently unable to stop grazing the underside of her breast. Meanwhile, one of her hands is still beneath his shirt, her fingers tracing his spine over his lower back, following the slow rhythm of his thumb.

Trying to keep his busy thoughts and unease at bay is pointless. It’s as pointless as trying to keep himself from touching her has been, tonight – obviously. That is, after all, how they ended up like this in the first place.

Him, trying to quell that sudden and unshakeable certainty that Rose is about to be ripped from him.

Maybe not _now_.

Maybe not even tomorrow, or next month, or this year.

But she’s…slipping, he’s certain of it, that knowledge throbbing deep within his skull, pulling at both his hearts all at once.

Which, somehow, is why they are (mostly) naked, and in fairly similar post-coital states – he suspects hers to be slightly less conflicted. Guilt is already joining in with his dread, spreading straight from the pit of his stomach.

All these reasons he gave himself for staying away from her…all these things he told _her_ , more or less kindly, about how whatever she thought was going on between them, they would never be more than what they were, because no matter what, she was doomed to _die_ and leave him all alone.

These reasons haven’t gone anywhere; they’re still real, and still true. If he’s to listen to that fear traveling deep beneath his skin, these reasons are actually more relevant than ever. And yet, intoxicated with her taste and lost in the feel of her, he convinced himself that _this_ was alright, more than alright.

He did almost lose her, today, and she’s slipping, and there is nothing he can do about it, about any of this, so he should just as well give in and cling to her while he can, imprint her even deeper into his very soul.

But it’s not fair on her.

He doesn’t know where his premonition comes from, he never does. What he does know is that _this_ , what they just did, it will…change things. Physical intimacy is a big deal, for many species. He must admit that, pinned as he is to her, with the feel of her heartbeat against his forehead and her slow, soothing breath in his hair, he almost understands why it is such a big deal.

There is nothing much he can do to fight the growing tension in his body as more minutes pass, though, eventually forcing himself to stop the slow brushing of her breast, because whatever she’s going to ask him, or say to him, it will come with ‘expectations’, and he’s got to get himself together.

He’s got to make it clear that nothing really changed – except for the fact that they’ve had _sex_ , and that he wouldn’t be against doing it again.

“Is that the Himalayas?”

Her voice is soft, barely above a whisper. It’s also full of that quiet wonder he never tires of hearing from her.

His surprise at her choice of first words is swiftly washed away, replaced by curiosity. He (somewhat reluctantly) pulls himself away from her neck, shifting and lifting his head off the couch to look at her.

She’s staring at what he knows to be the Earth’s projection overhead. Her cheeks are flushed, the roots of her hair dark with perspiration.

She’s beautiful.

When he doesn’t answer, she moves her gaze to meet his eyes. “There,” she says quietly, her turn to shift upon the couch, bringing her arm back between them, blindly looking for his hand. She links their fingers together, before pulling their hands up.

The Doctor lays back down as she does so, lying fully onto his back, letting their sides press against one another, his temple nothing short of squished against Rose’s as he finally looks up to where she’s pointing.

Their joined hands follow a white, slanted line he knows to be mountain tops covered with snow, the bright colour contrasting with the darker landscapes around.

“Well spotted,” he says, his voice almost a full octave lower than his usual tone. His hand moves to cover hers, sliding his fingers through hers, directing her next move. “This,” he tells her, tracing a large shape with her finger, “is China. And there’s Nepal. Which makes this…” He points at one specific part across those icy tops. “…Sagarmatha.”

Even though he says the name in its native language, letting the sounds roll off his tongue, his TARDIS automatically translates it for her.

“Mount Everest,” she repeats in a whisper, before going quiet for a moment. “You mean…tallest mountain on Earth and all that?” He forces a lazy noise out of his throat, nodding against her. “Looks tiny,” she concludes.

Another sound escapes him, something close to a breathless laughter, looking away from the slowly rotating planet above to nuzzle the side of her head. “You, Rose Tyler, are getting a bit too _blasé_ about all of this _._ Even structures that are big enough to be seen from _space_ are going to look small when viewed from this distance. Simple physics, really. What you mustn’t forget is that, like so many other things when it comes to this wondrous little planet of yours, these mountains actually are the expression of something huge and formidable. Tectonic forces, in this case. Drove the crustal plates of India and Asia right into one another, forty million years ago or so. Even now, the mountains keep on rising, about one centimetre a year.”

Rose has tilted her head, so that her nose is pressed against his, none of them watching the view anymore, their linked hands slowly coming back down. He can’t see much, pinned as they are, but he feels the way she’s slowly shifting against him well enough. Her free hand is moving over his chest, the graze of her nails enough to cause him to shiver, even through the fabric of his shirt.

“You’ve got such a crush on Planet Earth and its humans,” she says quietly against his lips, a smile in her voice, her fingers now pulling slowly at the already-loose knot of his tie. “You should hear yourself…” she whispers as she begins undoing the top button of his shirt. He doesn’t stop her, letting her slowly remove one of his very last layers. “I’d be jealous, if I wasn’t human myself.”

Although there is definite humour in the words she’s saying, he chooses to reply honestly.

“There’s just something humbling about Earth and its inhabitants,” he admits. “Such chaos, anger and haste. And yet, if you stop and look, you’ll always find beauty.” He moves his head as he says those words, meeting her eyes. “You’ll find courage and ingenuity. Kindness and compassion.”

She hears his unspoken words, the shadow of a smile pulling at her lips, his shirt and its remaining buttons forgotten for the time being, as she raises her hand to his cheek. He realises he’s said too much, exposed himself yet again, making him more vulnerable than he’s been in centuries.

Even with the warmth of her palm upon his skin, and that soft look in her eyes, his insides twist in dread, once again overcome with that… _certainty_.

“Can we go there?” she asks him quietly, her thumb caressing his lower lip.

Her request refocuses him, helps him ignore his apprehension. “Mount Everest?”

He feels her shrugging. “Let’s put her settings on ‘Random Mountains’, see where she takes us, yeah?”

“Probably underwater,” he notes wisely, and her smile and small laughter beat anything he’s ever seen or heard, on Earth or anywhere else in this galaxy.

She’s released his hand between them, sneaking her whole arm under his head until she’s circling his neck, pulling him into a hug, the angle slightly awkward, but the way she squeezes him is real and nothing short of fantastic.

“Show me more,” she whispers in his ear, and somehow, she manages to make these three little words sound a lot more suggestive than they ought to be, considering he _knows_ she’s talking about the projection above.

Possibly.

They shift again, with him fully on his back, while she snuggles up against his side, one of her hands having slid inside his half-opened shirt, resting upon one of his hearts. He raises a hand again, pointing at the Earth, which has rotated just enough in the last few minutes to offer them a different portion of land and oceans.

“See those plum-like swirls in the water? That odd colour pattern near the coastline?”

She nods against him, even as her fingers begin to move under his shirt, soon resuming her earlier task of unbuttoning it properly. “Pollution?”

He shakes his head. “Nope. They are what humans call ‘phytoplankton blooms,” he announces, before swallowing hard, Rose already distracted, not looking at what he’s showing her at all, given the way her lips have found his throat, her fingers on the last of his buttons. “They’re caused by a high concentration of these photosynthetic unicellular microorganisms,” he carries on anyway, unable to keep himself from sucking in a breath when she presses her tongue to his skin. “They thrive on sunlight and warm water you s-see, so when they come into contact with river deltas, the nutrient-rich water causes the swirls to grow larger.”

The sigh that escapes him at the end of this breathless sentence resembles a hum, her hand having descended lower, lightly grazing her nails across his inner thigh.

“N-Now, the really fascinating thing about this is that depending on which mineral is more abundant in the water, it will change the colour of the swirls. Calcium, for example, will make them appear almost milky wh – ”

But the rest of his words get chocked up in his throat, her warm fingers now wrapped and moving around his hardening length, her tongue carrying on teasing his throat. Given her current ministrations, it does not take long at all before he’s fully erect again, unable to keep his hips from rising off the couch. She sneaks a leg between his to keep him there, shifting most of her upper body to bring her face back to his.

She’s just as assertive in the way she kisses him, deeply and languidly, her other arm hooked around his neck, fingers weaved in his hair, while his own fingers dig in the softer flesh of her bum, pinning her more firmly to him as she carries on with her torturous caress.

He’s always known her to be supple, a quality that has proven to be quite useful, having more than once used it to their advantage by making her crawl through all kind of cramped spaces. Tonight, she uses that flexibility of hers to smoothly untangle their limbs and move, until she’s snuggly straddling his lap, her whole body pressing upon his. He buries his fingers in her hair to pull her closer still, their kissing following the sway of her hips upon him, creating a kind of friction that draws similar gasps out of them.

Her teeth tug at his lower lip as she parts from him, straightening up. He wants to follow her, drawn to the warmth of her skin the way a moth is drawn to a flame, but he finds himself momentarily frozen, nothing short of mesmerised by the sight of her as she shrugs off her loose pyjama top, which has been hanging low on her arms.

He basks in the lovely expanse of pale skin offered to him, her milky complexion having taken a slightly bluish hue from the planet above.

He cannot quite comprehend nor believe that he is allowed to touch said skin, and yet, here he is, the feel of it so soft under his own. As he cups both her breasts in his palms, squeezing and pressing upon her taunt nipples, she begins to rock her hips again, rolling into him with definite intent, and his pleasure stirs deep and low, as does hers, watching as she tilts her head back, mouth agape, the colours in her cheeks darkening.

She’s a sight to behold, the pinnacle of the human race, her body the only pantheon he will willingly pray to.

This belief of his only becomes stronger moments later when she moves with more intent, pushing herself off him just long enough, slowly guiding him inside of her, at which point she becomes the only thing that exists, the only thing that matters.

He watches, transfixed, as that beautiful dark flush spreads from her face all the way down her neck and heaving chest, her head once again thrown back, all raspy breaths and hooded eyes, knowing her to have lost herself into the sights above. The Doctor does not glance up.

Why would he, when he’s got _her_ to look at?

His hands slowly roam her thighs as she rocks upon him, his fingers squeezing her as she squeezes _him_ deep, drawing a moan out of him. That sound refocuses her, lowering her head to look at him, enveloping him further in everything that she is, soon reaching down for his tie, and pulling.

He comes up to meet her, moving and shifting together as she helps him discard of his shirt, the only piece of fabric remaining between them being that tie, which is quickly forgotten, lost in the sensations of her chest against his chest, wrapping himself around her, her arms equally tight around his shoulders and neck.

Kissing has become unessential, his face buried against her neck, muffling any sound she draws out of him as she rocks and undulates, and it’s all he can do to match her rhythm. And _yet_ , even now, lost as he is in the feel of her, that lingering dread still refuses to be quelled, sprouting thorns somewhere deep between his hearts.

How could she possibly be slipping away from him, when they’ve never been this intertwined? From her entire body enfolding his, to the thread of her timeline, so tightly entangled with his.

 _Lies_ …he tells himself, just as he told her earlier when she voiced her concerns about the Beast’s foreboding words.

His Rose, his beautiful, strong Rose…

_Lies…lies…lies…_

She’ll never let go, never let him go, her hold on him so tight, her fingers digging all the way through his skin and the muscles beneath…down down _down_ into his bones, carving her name into his marrow while her humming, scorching breath whispers unspoken words of _forever_ into his ear.

The universe be damned.

He is not losing her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember to be kind to yourself and to each other ♥
> 
> (and if you want to be kind to me, any feedback would be lovely)


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